Alive and well

A week ago yesterday I had my enlarged and malignant prostate removed.  (Fast forward: the pathology report indicated that both the "surgical margins" and the nearby lymph nodes are negative, which means 99% sure they got all the bad stuff.)  I will spare you day-by-day, blow-by-blow details of the surgery, my hospital stay, and recovery progress after my release.  

If you want details, click on these links, my experience has been pretty similar: (1) Johns Hopkins' detailed printed instructions to patients; (2) a video of the hospital stay, and (3) video of the operation itself.  For more background, explore the Johns Hopkins site, and I especially recommend the video of Charlie Rose's interview with Dr. Patrick Walsh.  (I wonder how Charlie got that black eye?)

You may notice that the printed "instructions" are for the "minimally invasive" robotic surgery, which is supposed to be less painful and have a quicker recovery time.  I chose to have the open incision, done by a doctor who is trained and experienced in the nerve-sparing methods developed by Dr. Walsh.  One week later I have to say that I do not regret my decision.  On the whole, pain has been minimal and manageable, and stages and pace of recovery are practically identical to those described for the robotic/laparoscopic.  I realize there are many pros and cons regarding this choice, and I could expound at some length about it.  Let's just say that I am content with my choice and move on.

I'm really a lot more interested in sharing how this has been a spiritual experience for me.  Actually, there have been no great awakenings, grand visions, or insights.  It's pretty much in my nature to try to take this kind of thing in stride.  It happens; and I'm grateful for both the benefits and challenges.

For me, the biggest challenge is always uncertainty and ambiguity, and therefore impatience.  Frankly, I was a little surprised at my patience all this time.  (I hope those around me can concur!)  The biggest hassle was rearranging and clearing my schedule, and anticipating enough recovery time.  (I got so many warnings about the price of cutting it too short!)  My biggest fear was that something would cause the surgery to be postponed.  I would not have been a happy camper forced to spend a few extra weeks in "normalcy."

Perhaps there has been something of a quasi-mystical experience in the past week.  I have often felt myself floating on cloud of gratitude.  Don't try to take that in a literal sense, but this acknowledgment of how much I owe everyone, and ultimately God, has been a recurring deeply felt emotion.  I don't know how it will ultimately translate into action, as it must otherwise it will turn into itself and wither.  But for now, I'm just letting the thoughts and feelings flow under and over me.

I realize how uniquely fortunate I am in the quality of medical care that is readily available for me, and is denied to so many.  How does that translate into action?  I'm not so sure that the easy (or obvious) answer of becoming and "activist" or an advocate is the right one, at least for me.  I see Jesus' images of "leaven" and "seed" as bringing about God's reign as really charting the direction for faithful disciples.  I  need to keep thinking about what that means for how I relate to our world.  How can I/we be so transformed as to care for those we would like to ignore, flee from or despise as being "our own"?

So many people are facing much bigger challenges.  It's not enough just to "thank God it's not me."  Perhaps I can feel a little more at one with them, and perhaps find ways of being more present to those whose needs and pain are so much greater.  I personally have never experienced hopelessness or overwhelming pain.  So many have . . .

I'm also grateful to have so many people in my life who love me.  Beginning with my dear friends who have opened their home to me (and putting up with me AND -- so important -- giving me space) during my recovery time.  So many people of the parish and other friends and associates who are praying and have sent well-wishes, especially by email.  And, so essential, the wonderful people of OLA who are keeping the right fires burning (and putting out the wrong ones) while I'm out of the parish.

I'm grateful also for time for prayer that I don't have to wedge into a crowded schedule or feel guilty for having let slip.  

My prayer has been nourished by reading, and two wonderful books have been my companions.  I'd like to tell you about them.

The first one is The Shack, by William Paul Young.  You've probably heard of it; maybe even read it -- today it's #1 on the NY Times trade paperback best seller list, and #6 top seller at Amazon.com.  I had not heard of it until someone gave me a copy before I went in the hospital, and said "You gotta read this."  It's light, both physically and in style, so I thought, "Why not?"  Well, as those of you who have read it know, it's quite a ride.  If you haven't read it, it's indescribable.  (How's that for getting out of having to write a review?)

But I'm sure those who have read it are especially interested in what I -- priest-pastor and all that -- have to say about it from a Catholic viewpoint.  Naturally, I do have a few comments.

Let me lead with the observation that all human language, including that of the Bible, falls far -- infinitely -- short of adequately describing God.  The use of images has always been seen as a help to understand, at least in part, the One Who is essentially beyond our comprehension.  So the images of God in the story in themselves present no problem.  In fact, the way that the Unity and Trinity of God is presented, essentially as a family relationship of love, is 100% in accord with Catholic theological tradition, and, in my humble opinion, is an absolutely brilliant depiction of it.  It's not only fresh -- as all good art, including religious art -- must be, it's charming too -- and a lot more accurate than much of the religious junk food we've been fed.  (Think of holy cards with pink-faced saints, for example.)

The novel grapples seriously with sin, redemption, the problem of evil and forgiveness, and comes to as good an understanding (notice I did not say solution) as possible this side of the Other Side.

One of the problems I saw in the novel is that it was written from an Evangelical Protestant perspective.  Since Protestantism pretty much overturned the use of symbol and image in worship and religious understanding, I kept getting the sense that the author was cautiously looking over his shoulder, as if he might get caught doing something naughty by depicting God the Father as, well . . . if you haven't read the book.

Like any powerful work of art (notice, I didn't say "great work of art"), it's dangerous.  One could superficially skim it for a kind of "new age" feel-good spirituality.  There's a lot in the book to avoid that, but it has to be read carefully, slowly, maybe more than once.  (I suspect a second, meditative reading could be life changing, but I haven't done that yet.  You're still stuck with the same old me.)

On the other hand, those without a Catholic imagination risk seeing the story as threatening to a faith based on biblical literalism.  Too bad.  I'm sure God is "especially fond" of folks like this reviewer, but I think his God is way too small.

The second book is very different yet in some ways similar.  It's The Bastard of Istanbul, by Turkish author, Elif Shafak.  Follow the links to find out more about the book and its author.  She weaves a deeply moving story of two strange and strangely intertwined families, one Turkish living in Istanbul, the other Armenian in the American diaspora.    The author risked imprisonment under the archaic law against "insulting Turkishness," but has shed new light on the intractable problem of the Armenian genocide by relating it to a whole host of other issues in human relationships that call for models of understanding and reconciliation.

Both books point, explicitly or implicitly, to a God who is much beyond, yet infinitely personal.  Nudging us toward the reconciliation that is the culmination of God's plan.  Speaking of God, last Monday's LA Times had an interesting mini-interview with arch-atheist Richards Dawkins.  I was kind of surprised how much I agreed with him!  I don't think the god he doesn't believe in really exists either.  More about that in my next post, God willing.